PS 3515 
.04444 
IL5 
1924 
Copy 1 


. /' ■ • ' ' ■ v / ; > 

■ . ■, ■ * 

v •$-. - ' ■>" 1 / i >\, 3 - 

’/' 5 | . ts / ' ■ y 

'■.» • , ' / ' > . ‘ • •}, • 

• ( • ^v;; 

, ' V" , ■■ 1 


r 







V v 


■v. - 








1 ' '■ v, \' 

1 . 

, >,,• * mV \V ■ ,, 


■PRi ■ 

| i 




ft ft 


• \ 7 •» 


■l 1 w 


v ' v • ■. ■ •’ 

jf-vjr. v r y w>j£>-jr > 

•i, ■ ' ■" 7 ’ , : l A ' ? / r 7.7 '4 

-" .... ' , , ' ' ' ■' 

V' : 'V ' ,, 

/>:; ■ ,• , • ...-,■ , 

1 ■ 1 1 / . . - 


, /v 




»«$ 



■'. t-. ■•, 


.' •>i/ . 



K'-n,* ' •• 

'A 












ir'V 


' v ' 


V-v •> 


? :v y. / 

. -lev vT\ r.-.,.. 

, . 

x'’ •* '■ 

“• ;• 




:' 


* . w \* ■ 

. 

.v. • 



m 

m 


$ 


2$* u. 

•„,*V 
r *. * V 


■ 


•i • • 


v .4 



j v* ; . 


s.: 

; ■ 

■ ' . . ' . r -. 'ir- •»’*• .?• v 

L:: • v" . v. : • 


ifi 


s< 

. • . ' £ ■ ■ 


. 

•• ... <. 

.»• v • • • 

t • 



■ % -,-r ; •• •; 

^ ,J 


y v . X ‘v-j ■ • l. 


" ' i • •• • ;• > 

•• • i. >, ’ 









. • ■ ;, u v • 

• iL * ' ' ■ '•* • . 





^ • m • 


• . r . ’ 




..VV ’ 




















































































Copyright , 1924, 
by 

Janie IVilliams-Holmes 


DEDICATORY 


(TO MR. AND MRS. JOHN WINTHROP WILLIAMS) 

To whom this little gift of heart 

Save those who wrought the mammoth part 

To make my life o’erflow in song? 

To both of them these lines belong. 

The chance to each will not be given 
To read this page, for sacred heaven 
To Father, dear, hath now unrolled 
Whereon are lines immortal scrolled; 

But justly is this tribute made 
To him who love and labor paid, 

And highest deeds for me desired— 

These menTries have my soul inspired' 

If aught of pleasure, aught of cheer. 

One gladdened hour, oh, “Mother Dear/ 

If satisfaction, comfort small 

This book afford, you’ve earned it all. 

For sacrifice, for boundless love 
I would, herein, that I might prove 
My thanks as vast as sea-strewn sand— 

But you will read and understand. 


( 2 ) 



{V 


iM 

41 



WJ 


Q£l*k, 















HINDU CHANT 


A Hindu poet sang, one day, 

A colorful, impassioned lay 
Selected from his repertoire, 

The song in which he chose to star. 

’Twas spun from threads of artists’ dreams, 
(They treasure kindred thoughts, it seems;) 
It voiced what all the craft desire. 

Illumined by an holy fire 
Its ideals shall eternal rise— 

And mine they are in soft disguise: 


ys 3s-ts- 




O lovely flow’r, abloom in spring 
Beside the water’s edge. 

How picturesque a form is thine 
That doth each trav’ler greet! 

Thou wouldst not choose, if choose thou couldst. 
To bloom for eyes select, 

Upon the throngs that pass thee here 
Is breathed thy perfume sweet. 

Land-scape of green, that ribbon-like 
Unfurls in sheer delight, 

Door-yard of beauty to the hills 
That stencil ’cross the sky, 

The painter seeks to bear thee off 
To grace his studio, 

But naught is missed; thy scenic charms 
For others waiting lie. 

O brilliant bird, with voice divine, 

Thy rare perfected art 
Knows no reserve; no cold restraint 
Dictates to whom nor where 
Thy joyous songs shall overflow; 

The college campus green 
Or peasant’s eave of thy fine art 
Receives an equal share. 

Nor would I sing for class select; 

No creed nor caste distinct 
Could magnetize my simple lay, 

’Twould be impov’rished then; 

Its birth occurred in depths of soul 
Whose waves move outwardly 
And touch the tides of other souls— 

I sing my songs for MEN! 

( 4 ) 


© Cl A 7 7 7 7 7 8 


PARASOLS 


Kind spring, I’m glad that you have come 
And round our naked trees have spun 
A silken mesh of wondrous green, 

And raised against the sky’s red stream 
These graceful parasols. 

I’m glad the thrush, the lark, the wren, 
Ah, all the birds are back again 
To warble songs from hearts of love 
And fasten downy nests above 
In all your parasols. 

I’m glad the sun pours out its stream 
Of gold upon your shades of green; 
Beneath the mystic, mellow light 
That filters through, as soft as night, 

I like to sit and dream. 


THE VOICE OF MORN 


Freshness of dawn comes to crown the day, 

Halo of gold shines to light the way, 

Odor of blossoms the hills steals along, 

Field larks pipe gaily their favorite song; 
Cloud-drifts across the blue firmament roll. 
Bird-notes recall to the sleeper his soul. 

Why now a fear or a troubled thought? 

Naught but delight hath the morning brought. 
Hark! ’tis the voice of the hours I hear 
Calling imploringly, bringing me fear; 

Calling from down through the day’s expanse, 
Urging a pledge ere the hours advance: 

Vow to be true to the day’s grave need, 

True in thy thought, in thy word and deed; 
Waste not the moments, perform each task 
Faithfully, gladly; ’tis this I ask. 

Think not the moments will coax thee and wait. 
They form the hours and decide thy fate. 

Give to all men what thou, also, dost love, 

Tossing it not from some window above; 

All men thy brothers in Spirit are, 

Love knows not distance, so no one is far. 

Come with the finest thou hast for the morn, 
Receive thy reward: youth returned; life new-born 

So speaks the voice of the unborn hours, 

Borne on the breath of the garden-flowers. 
Trembling I hear and I hesitate; 

All would I promise thee, Voice, but wait! 

Thou art the voice of the day’s ideal, 

Unto the ME of myself, thine appeal; 

Thou art the call, thou’rt the answer, too, 

All that thou asketh is thine to do. 

So, to the Self that is high and pure, 

Unto the Strength never-failing, sure, 

Light of my life, yea, the Life, indeed, 

Sun of my soul, unto Thee I plead. 

Far to the back-ground I fain would retreat. 

Selfish advancement would end in defeat; 

All of the day unto Thee I give, 

Thou art the Life, I implore Thee, live! 


( 6 ) 


TALL TREE 


As you smile and bow to the soft-blown breeze, 
Towering- high above your neig-hbor-trees, 

As the clouds place a kiss on your cheeks and fly, 
Are you happy there in the spacious sky? 

Was it haughty pride, was it discontent, 

Were you marching forth on adventure bent 
When you built your hangar for birds high-flown? 
Did you know you rose but to stand alone? 

As you passed along did you heave a sigh? 

Were your senses pained far too deep to cry 
When you saw grown trees that so lowly stood 
Bending back to earth, stupid things of wood? 

Did the giggling taunts of their foolish leaves 
Shake your steady soul, make you ill at ease? 
Could you not be understood or known 
By the common-place on a lower zone? 

Ah, methinks you must have heard the call 
Of the sweet-voiced stars as they chanted all, 

Or you fell in love with a gentle beam 

Of the white-wreathed moon as it shone serene. 

It has served you well that you always stood 
In a pose erect, sensing naught but good; 

You have reached the realm of the high and free, 
And I know you were right to push on, Tall Tree. 


( 7 ) 


PAINTINGS 


(SCENE I) 

I watched the sunset’s after-glow 
Unfurl itself across the sky— 

A tapestry rose-tinged and blue, 

And brushed with heliotrope, swung high; 

The sun’s betrothed in timid blush, 

A memory pale where love had shone; 

Frail shadow of some heavenly thing, 

Sweet longing for a joy late gone. 

I watched it move upon the breeze 
In restless, vague uncertainty, 

As in the wake of moving storm 
A light craft swerves upon the sea. 

I watched—the after-glow had gone! 

No flame-lit scene above! 

Ah, had it perished, lonely there 

Or gone to seek its truant love? 


( 8 ) 


PAINTINGS 


(SCENE II) 

A lamb was leaping o’er the sty, 

A fleet of ships was sailing by 
On waters blue. 

A party where the ladies met 
Was in a dainty garden set, 

With tea to brew. 

Huge mountain-heaps of whitest snow 
Seemed whiter in the sun’s bright glow 
That on it fell. 

Wood-nymphs were in a forest posed 
As if for dance, but round them closed 
Enchantment’s spell. 

A castle-hall of pearl was there. 

And fairy forms were on the stair 
Ascending high. 

I sat upon the desert sand, 

But knew it not the while I scanned 
The scenic sky. 


( 9 ) 


REBUKE 


Thou selfish Muse, I’m hither come, 
What keepeth thee away? 

Why hast thou thus ignored the tryst 
We should observe to-day? 

Indifferent suitor, thou, and vain 
To leave me thus alone; 

The joy this hour had promised me, 
Perchance, may ne’er be known. 

Unfaithful, fickle, careless one, 

Thou bringest me no kiss! 

Thou carest not that I should wait 
And sight of thee should miss. 

Then neither do I care, proud one, 

I’ll count it no sad fate, 

What—here at last? Oh, radiant joy! 
My Love, what made thee late? 


( 10 ) 


OUT OF THE NIGHT 


A tramp's breath curled upon the air, 

The white frost glistened in his hair; 

He drew his blanket close about 
To shut the wintry breezes out. 

And slept him there. 

The hungry wolf’s low growl was heard, 
The twitter of a restless bird, 

An owl went forth in search of food 
Throughout the wild and lonely wood. 
And naught else stirred. 

A mother’s crooning, soft and sweet, 

Had lulled her fretful babe to sleep; 

She tucked the cover soft around, 

Then drew aside and sat her down 
Still watch to keep. 

A prisoner dreamed that he was free 
And knew the joy of liberty; 

The strong were weak, the sick were well. 
The vile were good beneath dream’s spell 
On land and sea. 

Omniscience, knowing all things, knew 
Eternal Good, alone, is true, 

That mortals will, at length, awake 
From dreams illusive, rise and take 
Dominion true. 


( 11 ) 


OPPORTUNITY 


He stood on the highway, there. 
Sad and forlorn, 

Despondent, discouraged, of 
Every hope shorn. 

His one opportunity 
Past him had fled; 

’Twould never return again, 
Well were he dead! 

But once in a life-time, and 
Then on swift wing, 

The gods of high fortune one’s 
Portion may bring. 

So, what yet remained for him, 
Why should he try? 

’Twere better to yield to his 
Fate—and to die ! 

Another had miserably 
Failed; all was lost; 

’Mid darkness of censure and 
Slander he tossed. 

The frown of the world and the 
Loss of its faith 
Had sickened his soul and had 
Furrowed his face. 

“Ah,” said he, “day cometh, the 
Sun will arise; 

I’ll see not men’s frowns, I will 
Look to the skies. 

Demolished, my house, but a 
Mansion I’ll build, 

More stately and vast, on the 
Crest of yon hill!” 


( 12 ) 


THE ARTIST 


I watched an ardent suitor woo 
The lovely idol of his dreams; 

Love lit his face with radiance 
As lights the sun its myriad beams. 
Soft murmuring at first, so soft 
That she could only faintly hear, 

And then in passionate outburst 
His soul’s deep longing filled her ear. 
Legatos tenderly caressed, 

And kisses in staccatto rained 
Upon fair cheeks and forehead smooth 
Until she vowed the love he claimed. 


Ensemble then of voices sweet 
A rich, melodious cadence made— 
When saw and heard I all of this? 
One summer evening when you played. 


( 13 ) 



SEA-GULL 


Awhile I’d ride the billows strong, 

I’d chase the bubbles floating ’long, 

Then dive to realms of under-sea 
And greet the creatures there that be; 

I’d rise and shake my wings moist-free 
And skyward sail from the tumbling sea; 

I’d float the quiet ether through, 

And hail the stars that came to view; 

I’d fling me to the breezes strong 
And ripple forth in mirthful song; 

Such things as these me-thinks I’d do 
If for a day I might be you, 

Sea-gull of grey, with breast of snow. 
Could I but travel as you go. 


( 14 ) 


GREET THE MORN 


Morn’s a-wing, arise and sing! 

Haste with me to greet her; 

Gently fly, as floats the sky 
In vestures blue, to meet her. 

Saucy breeze invades the trees, 

Sets the leaves a-flutter, 

Rushes on to welcome morn— 

We must hasten, too. 

Come, my Love, red skies above 
Bid us not delay; 

Heavenward swinging, birds are singing, 
Welcoming the day. 

Shall not we in radiant glee 
Swing and sing as they? 

Gorgeous hues are melting, blending, 
Coloring a sun for birth; 

Raise your chalice, catch the sun-beams 
Ere they stoop to kiss the earth. 
Swing, Love, sing. Love, 

Gaily greet the morn! 


(IS) 


THE GALE 


Russet leaves of autumn blowing, 

Threatening cloud-banks rising, growing, 
Mad waves dashing, foaming, crashing, 

Usher forth the storm. 

Tall reeds prostrate, trees low bending, 
Howling winds their terror lending, 

Cold rain drenching, sea-gulls flinching— 
Thunder scares the morn! 

J 

Gruesome forms of storm-clouds frightening, 
Slashed and warped by hurried lightning, 
Torrents falling, billows calling, 

Debris piles the shore; 

Chimneys crouching on the housetops, 
Hideous as ancient Cyclops, 

Fury raging, then assuaging— 

Lo! the storm is o’er. 

Brown leaves quivering in the sunshine, 
Breeze as gentle as in springtime, 

Wet reeds glittering, air-sprites twittering 
Round the quiet palm, 

Purple velvet sea smooth-going, 

Fringed by waves of pearl o’erflowing, 

Pink clouds gliding, peeking, hiding, 

Bring again the calm. 


( 16 ) 


BE STILL 


A clump of shrubs was browning, dying, 
The autumn leaves were rattling, sighing, 
Clouds were weeping tears of rain, 

Birds were rushing home again, 

But you never stirred. 

Dainty, little, fragrant flower, 

Naught in all that frantic hour 
Could disturb your quiet pose; 

You were still a smiling rose 
Tho the forest frowned. 

All my fondest hopes were dying, 

Voices deep within were sighing, 

You it was, still smiling there, 

Quiet in the Father’s care, 

Cautioned me: “Be still.” 


( 17 ) 


NURSERY DREAM 


The air is chill outside to-night, 

The wind is fierce and keen; 

A sifting snow is on the breeze 
And ice has skimmed the stream. 

The smoke comes down and mingles 
With the snow in varied form, 

And, by this well-known omen, 
Foretells a heavy storm. 

The fire in my living-room 
Is merry as a lark, 

I love the purple dancing blaze 
And every flashing spark; 

A gleam is thrown across my room, 
I need no other light 

While seated in the stillness 
Enjoying such a night. 

I rock in warmth and comfort here, 
Awaiting some one’s step, 

Whose favorite meal is all prepared 
And steaming hot is kept. 

His little son is at my feet 
With blocks that strew the floor; 

He listens, too, for that same step 
And keeps watch on the door. 

His father’s heart’s delight is he, 
His coming brought great joy; 

Ah, yes, his mother, I confess, 

Is proud of such a boy. 

She looks ahead to future years 
When wondrous joy shall come— 

When he with laurels on his brow 
Shall proudly enter home. 


( 18 ) 


NURSERY DREAM 


But there, in that wee basket, 

A soft and downy heap 
Encloses my heart’s treasure, 

My baby girl, asleep. 

Her hair is raven-colored, 

In soft, thick curls it lies, 

And pools of shining darkness 
Are mirrored in her eyes! 

Her little cheeks are rosy, 

Her little forehead, fair; 

Her tiny, tapering fingers 
Are hidden in her hair; 

They nestle close, but here and there 
Peep through a wisp tight curled, 

While she in heaven’s dreamland sleeps, 
Unconscious of the world. 

She’s but a tiny angel 
Entrusted to my care; 

Lest when she’s grown she’ll part from me 
I’ll strive to keep her there— 

There in her cozy basket 
From which she looks to me 
For all she has, for all she wants, 

For all she hopes to be. 

I can’t refrain, my blessed one. 

From taking just one kiss 
From ’neath your ear where sugar lies, 

Such treat I cannot miss! 

My darling! oh, there is no babe? 

No son? What can it mean? 

Alone, I listen for his step, 

The rest was all—a dream! 


( 19 ) 


MORTALITY 


(MORNING) 

I, too, have known the morning’s joy, 
Inhaled the dew-drenched breeze 
And clapped my hands in innocence 
As danced the wind-blown leaves. 

My face was dimpled then, perhaps, 
Soft-skinned and tender-eyed; 

My voice was heeded tho I laughed 
Or gurgled soft or cried. 

Ah, then the song-bird’s melodies 
Hilarious, wild and free, 

Were rivaled by the lullabies 
That Mother sang for me. 

But that was morn when life was young— 
The day had just begun; 

Nor could I see or even choose 
The course my day should run. 


( 20 ) 


MORTALITY 


(NOON) 

Life’s buoyant noon was also mine. 

The sun in glory stood; 

Sprung forth from adolescent fog, 

It shone o’er field and wood. 

Then hope sprang up as high as heaven, 
Naught fettered; I was free! 

Beyond each murky cloud that rose 
Gleamed stars of hope for me. 

I planned and toiled, I won and lost, 

And hastened on the way, 

While myriad songs and myriad dreams 
Filled full my life’s noon-day. 

Not all those noontide dreams matured, 
Not all my problems solved, 

But from each mystic, filmy dream 
Some definite truth evolved. 


( 21 ) 


MORTALITY 


(NIGHT) 

To every day that mortals know 
Doth come an eventide 

When sails the sun to lands remote, 
And now mine own doth glide. 

So sinks my sun, so ends my day; 
And satisfied am I 

If storms of doubt be held in leash 
While stars find place on high. 

Oh, stars of truth, that light the path 
Of all eternity, 

Ye tell me that I’ve always been 
And shall forever be. 

Ye tell me mortal days must end, 

And mortal suns must set, 

But I must know immortal life 
And mortal dreams forget! 

Tho shadows seem to settle now, 
Night-winds, to move the sea, 

On shores of immortality 
Life’s sun shines on for me. 


( 22 ) 


LISTENING IN 


On the side of the green-robed western hills, 
Where the gold-crowned poppies grow, 

At the hour when the distant peaks are blue, 
When the evening sun is low— 

I like to sit in the stillness, then, 

In the stillness sit and “listen in”. 

Every tree on the hillside stands and waits 
For the sunlight’s parting kiss, 

And I boldly watch for her deep, deep blush, 

As her ruby lips she lifts. 

Then the hillside vesper songs begin, 

And I like to sit and “listen in”. 

The tall trees sway and softly sing 
Until the poppies fall asleep, 

And the tuneful song of the roaming wind 
Finds an echo in the deep. 

Oh, I love to be on the hillside then, 

On the hillside where I “listen in”. 

From the heart of the retrospective sea, 
Whose bosom pulses high, 

From waves emotional and full, 

Sweet songs and sad float by; 

And the harmony seems richest when 
To the songs of the sea I “listen in”. 

While the trees and waves and chanting winds 
Their symphonies broad-cast, 

Lo, a world of stars inquisitive 
Crowd the aerial porches vast— 

Ah, the stars from ages past have been 
Stealing out at night to “listen in”. 


( 23 ) 


HOME 


That which he thinks upon day after day 
Buildeth man’s habitat, gorgeous or plain, 
Thought-trends are paths that with accuracy 
Lead to the door of his home. 

Lofty his sanctum if soaring his thought. 
Stately the mansion in which he resides; 
Hands may not touch it, ’tis mentally built— 
Consciousness is his abode. 

Wrath can evoke not an irate reply, 

Shafts from the quiver of scorn can but fail. 
Weapons of hate are but powerless things 
Aimed at the tenant of Love. 

Wisdom builds not in the reach of the vile, 

Not in the range of the base and profane. 
But, like the Psalmist, prefers ever more 
To dwell in the house of his Lord. 


( 24 ) 


SEPTEMBER 


In her rustic bower, gently swayed 
By the soft autumnal breeze, 

She sits and murmurs music strange, 

That floats through myriad trees. 

In a voice of joy that trails to sighs. 

She sings and laughs and sobs, 

And all the air reverberates 
Her heart’s impulsive throbs. 

She is loved by two; she loves them both, 

But she knows not which the best— 

On her cheek is the florid kiss of one, 

While she dreams how the last caressed. 

She would fain combine the twain in one, 

For they both to her are dear, 

But decision’s hour when she must choose 
And announce her choice, is here. 

One expresses all the warmth of love 
That a maid could well desire; 

He is ardent Summer, but too late 
Does he fan love’s coals to fire. 

So she turns, at length, to brown-cheeked Fall, 
Who has strength and wealth and fame, 

And we hear their dual song of joy 
In our autumn wind and rain. 


( 25 ) 


THE RECLUSE 


No selfish aim has lured him there, 

No bitterness of mind, 

For he would gladly blend his life 
If comrades he might find. 

Not haughtily disdaining those 
He saw and touched and knew, 

But longing for a soul in tune, 

Whose love he knows is true: 

Who looks beyond the things that seem 
And sees the things that are; 

Who travels t’ward the goal of truth 
Nor counts the distance far; 

Who lends a hand, if hills are steep, 

To help lest he should fall; 

Who would not laugh at his despair 
But answer to each call. 

No isolated life is his 
With darkness thick about, 

He walks each day a path of light 
That upward leads and out— 

Far out to planes of perfect life; 

And who, forsooth, should care 
If divers paths men choose since all 
Must terminate up THERE? 

“My brother’s keeper, I”, saith one, 

“His path is difficult and lone.” 

Perhaps he finds it better far 
Than he would find it where you are. 

The wilderness, the tomb, the cross 
To some seemed ignominious loss; 

No perfect mundane path we find, 

We tread the perfect path in Mind. 


( 26 ) 


AGAIN 


Ah, little rose, I saw you yester-year; 

Think not that you initially appear; 

I slaked my thirst with your sweet-scented breath, 

But fretted not nor sighed when came your death— 

I knew you would return. 

Ah, blades of green that quiver in the dew, 

You are the grass that long ago I knew, 

The burning sun your sparkling dew-drops dried, 

It fiercely burned until, they said, you died— 

Your spirit, tho, lived on. 

Ah, Love of mine, it seems we’ve met before, 

Together walked somewhere in days of yore; 

It seems we loved and dreamed and planned and wrought 
And, parting, still remained but one in thought— 

Now love hath brought us here. 


( 27 ) 


AEROGRAMS 


When miles by thousands thrust themselves 
Between your arms and me, 

And I must silent dreaming sit 
Beside the tossing sea, 

How kindly seem the summer skies 
That pass, adorned in blue; 

Somehow, I think they’re on their way 
To bring my love to you. 

Like lovely fairies, gracefully 
They float along their way, 

And I am sure they bear to you 
The things I fain would say. 

Have you not noticed gentle skies 
A-hovering o’er the trees 
When, quietly, at eventide 
You seek the moving breeze? 

Be not indifferent to them 
For they have come with love; 

They gather round in quietness 
To whisper from above. 

And, oh, my Love, if you should see 
Some day a sable cloud, 

It bears a love more passionate 
And comes to speak aloud 1 

Its words are silver drops of rain 
That thickly round you fall; 

If you will listen you will hear 
In them a loving call. 

Ah, you will find that distances, 

However long or far, 

Are spanned by messages of love 
Sky-sped to where you are. 


( 28 ) 


REST 


If, some strange morning, you should rise 
And, from your cliff-house, view the skies, 

Not softly floating skies of blue, 

With cloud-veils white for the sun to peep through. 
But a molten mass, a lava bed 
That hung in bulk above your head— 

Would that be skies for you ? 

If you should scan the ocean wide 
And find thereon no moving tide, 

If not a billow trembled there. 

No breath of salt refreshed the air, 

If all the sea were silent, dead, 

If all its buoyant charm had fled— 

Could you admire it still ? 

If day by day past you should flee, 

And each one like the last should be, 

If never one a task should bring— 

No tear to shed, no song to sing, 

If you should never have to prove 
By bitter test your depth of love, 

Would life mean aught to you? 


( 29 ) 


NIGHT 


(ODE) 

Giver of moon-light, of star-sprinkled skies, 
Driving the sun to the west, 

Calming the storms that the day has engaged, 
Bidding the weary to rest, 

Pause after on-rush, sweet peace after rage. 
Time when the kindest wind blows, 

Glad is the world when you softly return, 

Glad when day’s boist’rous scenes close! 

Universe-mother, on whose gentle breast 
Millions lie down in sweet sleep 
Or, if they fret, still they nestle them there, 
Nestle to sigh or to weep; 

Wondrous the throbbings of life that you feel, 
Wondrous the pictures you see! 

Secrets delightful and painful you know— 

Vast must your sympathies be! 

Fields bathed in dew-drops or desolate lands, 

Trees in green foliage or bare 

Streams winding swiftly or dead, stagnant pools 

Claim your attention; and where 

Statuesque mountains with peaks past the clouds 

Or groveling sand-hills are found 

You could direct us; familiar the scenes 

Shadows have hovered around. 


( 30 ) 


NIGHT 


(PASTORAL) 

The sun had set; the twilight deepened, 
Crickets chirped and green frogs croaked; 

The strange, hot breath of feeding cattle 
Rose in air like fog afloat. 

The feathered fowls were perched like statues, 
Foliage hiding them from sight, 

A farmer with his foaming milk-pail 
Hastened home, for it was night. 

There he found his wife and children 
Waiting until grace be said 

For the meat and steaming coffee, 

Rice and richly browning bread. 

Shortly he was served to supper, 

Later on he lit his pipe, 

Talked awhile with those about him, 

Then retired, for it was night. 

Plain and simple was the household, 

But the inmates happy seemed; 

They were pleased with their surroundings, 
Luxury was not their dream. 

Night brought hours for sweet communion 
Kindred ones and friends among, 

Night brought dreams and rest from labor, 
Rest for aged, and dreams for young. 


( 31 ) 


NIGHT 


(AMOROUS) 

Warm and pleasant was the evening, 
Breezes soft and gentle blew. 

Radiant moon-beams danced in tree-tops, 
Often pausing to peek through 
At two lovers, quiet sitting 
In the shadow fallen there, 

And watch the one entwine a rose-bud 
Midst the other’s soft, dark hair. 

Living life’s supremest moment, 

Breathing quickened breaths of love, 
Wrapt within their love’s effulgence, 

Two hearts throbbed like startled dove. 
Two young hearts were truly happy; 

No suspicion lurked therein, 

Fully trustful, fully joyous, 

Thankful each such love to win. 

And the night seemed made for lovers! 

Sweet delight distilled the air; 

Rays of silver made obeisance 
To their goddess lovely, fair, 

High enthroned mid shining subjects 
In their gleaming robes of light, 

While a night-bird caroled richly 
Serenades for love’s own night. 

Joyous bird, so sweetly gifted, 

Silence wakes to your glad sound! 

Would that you would always whistle 
When the darkness settles round. 

Whether there were stars or moonlight. 
Whether there were lovers true. 

There are those whose hearts would quicken 
By those whistled songs of you! 


( 32 ) 


A PALACE 


My palace ideal’s a magnificent thing. 

High on a hillside it stands 

O’er-looking the placid blue waters of peace 

Where sail the swift vessels of joy. 

Dame Nature, my neighbor, is wondrously kind: 

Grasses and flowers she brings 

And trees of rare beauty, and sweet-scented vines, 

And fits up a garden for me, 

That I in true rapture may gaze on the scene 
And mirror the beauty I see. 

The sunlight through glistening windows of faith, 
Draped in rich vestures of hope, 

Streams into my room like a flood of good cheer, 
Encircling my soul with its warmth. 

The doors are thrown wide that the song-laden breeze 
Welcome sincere may receive. 


Ah, how for a season, tho brief, could I stray, 
How such environment leave ? 


( 33 ) 



UNAWARE 


Through tops of trees I looked one night, 
And sky-flakes turquoise blue, 

A smiling moon and timid stars 
I found a-peeping through. 

A work of art in heaven hung! 

I gazed in silent awe; 

I knew it took a God to paint 
The perfect scene I saw. 

But I had sat the evening through 
Beneath those silent trees 

And had not known such draperies 
Were floating on the breeze. 

One day I pressed a gentle hand 
And said a soft good-bye; 

It seemed that all the joy I’d known 
Was destined now to die. 

“Good-bye,” was all that I could say, 
“Good-bye,” was all I heard; 

I looked but could not see the face. 

For tears my vision blurred. 

I knew it now, but it was late! 

How soon would be removed 

The friend whom I so oft had met 
But had not known I loved. 

And now methinks, tho strange, ’tis true, 

We seldom have a care 

Until too late we learn we’ve dwelt 
With angels unaware. 

The thoughts that come with strange impress 
And linger with us long, 

Are they not shields from heaven sent 
To foil the power of wrong? 

Oh, Ears, be true and hear aright, 

And, Eyes, with clearness see, 

Oh, Mind, dwell thou in realms of truth 
And know REALITY! 


( 34 ) 


YULETIDE 


Sacred night! wondrous night! 

Darkness reigns save the light 
Where one ray of hope doth stream, 

Like the light of a silver moon-beam, 
Bidding: wait for the dawning. 

Wait for the dawn of Truth. 

Sacred night! wondrous night! 

See my heart’s restless plight! 

Heart enfettered by doubt and fear, 
Wond’ring oft’ if deliv’rance be near; 
Break thy silence, calm night! 

Speak from thy stillness to me! 

Sacred night! wondrous night! 

Brighter beams thy pure light, 

Shining over the perilous way, 

Through the mist to the dawning of day; 
Glorious light, shine thou on! 

Shine, in thy lustre shine on! 

Sacred night! wondrous night! 

Shadows flee, bursts full light! 

Stream of gold from the shining east 
Floods my soul till its tossing is ceased, 
Now abideth a calm, 

Now doth a calmness abide! 

Sacred night! wondrous night! 

Holy Lord, God of Light! 

’Tis the birth of thy Son anew, 

Light that dawns to my darkened view, 
Lo! the Saviour has come, 

Christ, the Saviour has come! 

Sacred morn! Christmas morn! 

Conscious Truth, Christ is born! 

Gone are darkness, doubt and fear, 
Understanding’s light is here— 

Birth of Truth brings the Christ-tide, 
Now is the Christ born anew! 


( 35 ) 


MABLE 


(ONE YEAR) 

A year has passed by since you left, Dear, 
And, oh, the deep sorrow we’ve known! 
Such gloom and such sadness are ours, Dear, 
Since you bade farewell to our home. 

It cannot seem right that you left us; 

To none may we offer your place; 

We miss your companionship sadly, 

Your voice and your sweet, youthful face. 

No less do we love you to-night, Dear, 

No less do our hearts yearn for you, 

Nor one year nor twenty can silence 
Our love; ’tis eternally true. 

What hopes had we for your future! 

What plans had each one laid in store! 

In sorrow they all are abandoned; 

We’ll cherish them, oh, never more! 

But a new hope within us has risen. 

As in darkness arises a star. 

That, tho you will never return here. 

We surely shall come where you are. 

We know you await us in heaven, 

’Mid scenes that are gloriously fair, 

And, longing the while to be with you. 

Some day we shall follow you there. 


( 36 ) 


MABLE 


(TEN YEARS) 

’Tis ten years now, but what are years ? 

They fade as dry our scalding tears; 

No time can change, no mist can blur 
Our fresh and lovely thought of her— 

God’s gift to dwell with us awhile, 

To teach us how to love and smile, 

To teach us heaven and Him to know. 

Then cleave our thoughts from things below! 


( 37 ) 


TO THE HILLS 


Oh, glorious hills, that calmly rise 
And kiss the bosom of the skies. 

Oh, hills, enwrapt in robes of green 
And decked with flowers of radiant sheen, 
Resplendent hills, I love thee! 

Thou, lovely clad and scented sweet, 

With citadels about thy feet, 

With placid lakes and budding trees— 

Thy grandeur lifts thee out of these, 

And thou art high, exalted! 

Ye hills, that soar beyond the cloud 
And make your Mother-Nature proud, 

Are ye not they that skipped like rams, 
That frisked away like frightened lambs 
Till man exclaimed: “What ailed thee ?” 

Thou hast thy place in mortal dream, 
Uplifted, beautiful, serene; 

Beholding thee against the skies, 

With haste I mount my thoughts and rise. 
And soar through realms celestial. 

I lift mine eyes unto the Hills 
Whence cometh help for all earth's ills— 
The Hills of Truth, the Hills of God, 
Devoid of shape in stone or sod, 

But in the heavens eternal. 


( 38 ) 


CHILDREN 


Little child with face awry, 

What a picture when you cry! 

Tear-drops forced through eyes shut tight— 
What dread sounds infest the night! 

Little child, when the comes the dawn, 
Tempest over, all is calm, 

Sweet the smiles that light your face! 

Deep the dimples claiming place! 

Joy illumes those great round eyes 
Like the sunshine lights the skies; 

Mirth, content and love are there— 

Child, your face is wondrous fair! 


Child mature, who feels life’s care, 

Days of trial, deep despair, 

Joy will bid their clamor cease 
When you’ve bravely earned your peace. 


m 



NOVEMBER DAY 


Grey, grey November Day, 

Scarcely canst thou see thy way, 
Silver mist thy pathway veils 
While the sun beclouded sails 
On its western tour. 

Thou hast stripped the leafy trees 
With a swift and bitter breeze; 

Thou hast been so grim and cold, 

All the men I count as bold 
Who went forth to-day. 

I have missed the birds I knew, 

Daily round my trees they flew; 

Hast thou frightened them away. 
Solemn, grey November Day? 

Have they southward flown? 

Missing are the children’s calls 
Daily heard from garden walls— 

Thou hast bruised the sun-flow’r’s face, 
She has lost her lovely grace 
And is drooping low. 

Listen, grey November Day, 

You cannot becloud my way; 

Tho your sun I cannot see, 

Sunlit thoughts are left to me, 
Luminous and pure. 


( 40 ) 


NOVEMBER DAY 


You have snatched the trembling leaves 
From the arms of helpless trees, 

But you cannot rob a mind 
Of the treasures you might find 
Should you enter there. 

You may send the birds away, 

Music you cannot betray— 

Independent of the bird, 

Souls in tune have always heard 
Music rapturous. 

Children’s calls I may not hear, 

But there’s laughter in my ear; 

At the fireside with my books, 

Gurgling laughter springs from brooks 
As they dash along. 

You may blight the garden’s flowers, 
But you cannot touch the hours 
Rose-filled, verdant as the fern. 

Hours when I may sit and learn 
Of the things eternal. 

So then, cold November Day, 

Wrapped in mantles thick and grey, 
We’ve no quarrel, you and I, 

You are merely passing by, 

I am here to stay! 


( 41 ) 


THE FAITH PERFECT 


Hope was the call that I plainly heard 
When, deep within, strong- desire first stirred; 

Lifted in thought to the Source of supply, 

Calmly I waited while time passed by. 

Hope, in its dawning, brought quiet relief, 

Later it deepened and grew to belief; 

Courage and patience their virtues bestowed, 

Thus it grew easy to travel faith’s road. 

Hoping and waiting and trusting I went, 

Waiting the hour my request should be sent; 

Ah, but I waited till time grew in length, 

Waited till taxed to its utmost my strength. 

Doubt, then, and fear in swift challenge arose, 
Threatening the failure of faith to expose. 

There in that moment of darkness and blight, 

Straight through the clouds of despair burst the light! 

Failure of faith? I had learned to believe, 

Yet there was more ere my soul could receive; 

Simple belief must expand, it must grow— 

More than belief, perfect faith is to KNOW! 


(42 


AMBITION 


There is an inmost striving, 

An unrest in my soul, 

A longing for things higher, 

A struggle for a goal! 

There is a day of darkness, 

Of trembling ’neath a load, 

And then a light illumines 
My once benighted road. 

There is an eye that seeth 
A virtue unattained, 

And, tho ’tis high, discovereth 
A pathway to its plane. 

There is a sense discerning 
An imperfection still, 

A wrong that must be righted 
By unrelenting will. 

There is a voice persuading: 

“Think not to-day of rest, 

But travel on to better things. 
And on, and on to best.” 

A spirit strong sustains me, 
Reviving as I go, 

And counsels me to scorn despair 
And every voice of woe. 

A will there is determined, 

Tho deep or wide or far, 

On land or sea, where’er it be— 
To reach its ideal star! 


( 43 ) 


FRIENDS 

I. 

Deep gratitude builds thoughts of you, 
Oh, lovely, cherished friends, 

I take you as that heritage 
Which heaven in mercy lends. 

You’ve cheered me oft’ with praises fond 
That seemed so undeserved; 

Your love that lay beneath each word 
My very heart hath nerved. 

Your confidence supported me 
When else I might have failed; 

You patient were when well you might 
Have censured, or assailed. 

Before such love—as oft’ before 
Bright forms of loveliness— 

Admiring, grateful, mute I stand 
And naught in words confess. 

I’d like to wrest yon tree-tops gay, 

All pink and sweet with bloom, 

And stand them here, still pink and sweet, 
In the corner of my room. 

Perchance, my room is not the place 
Where tree-tops should be seen, 

So I must love and leave them there 
Amid their native green. 

I’d like to take these pansies rich 
And plant them in my heart, 

That all their grace and daintiness 
Of me might be a part. 

Perhaps such charms as they possess 
To them, alone, belong; 

Reflecting them my heart may bloom 
In gracefulness of song. 

I’d like to say the many things 
That, oh, so deeply lie 
Unsaid, unvoiced within my heart 
That begs to make reply. 

But heart to heart may softly speak 
Tho lips be e’er so still— 

Love’s pinions bear their words aloft 
And voice them on Truth’s Hill. 


( 44 ) 


FRIENDS 


(II) 

Like unto morn with its sunshine bright, 
Like to the stars that bedeck the night, 
Even as glistening stones in gold 
Shineth the lustre of your pure soul. 

When to my cottage you kindly came 
Baskets of heather, that day, to bring, 

New joy and hope in my heart were stirred 
Like to the notes of a happy bird! 

Scarce could you know that such simple deed 
Would at that time serve my deepest need; 
Yet, by the joy that the act inspired 
Know I ’twas love that my heart desired. 

Go, little maid, on your errands bright, 
Shine, little star, with your gentle light ; 
Thus will your life the more pleasure know, 
Born of the joy you in love bestow. 


( 45 ) 


FRIENDS 


(III) 

Dear Heart, I went upstairs one day, 
And shut me from all else away; 

In memory’s chair 
I sat me there 
And lived again with you! 

I looked into your loving face, 

Within your arms I found my place; 

I talked with you 
Of friendship true— 

I talked again with you! 

At length we wandered out to scenes 
Of sky and sea and lovely things; 

To hillsides green, 

Sunlit, serene— 

I wandered there with you! 

You took me then where music flowed 
And warmed my heart until it glowed; 
And all the time, 

Your hand in mine— 

There was such joy with you! 

Dear Heart, we lived our perfect day 
As we desired, in our own way; 

It seemed so sweet 
With you to meet, 

I said: “I’ll come again.” 

And tho sometimes it makes me sigh, 
And other times it makes me cry, 

I mount the stair 
And sit me there, 

And live again with you! 


( 46 ) 


THE SEARCH 


This mortal life’s a quest for Truth, 

Through ripened years from days of youth 
Tho close at hand doth lie the goal, 

We build long trails from sense to Soul. 

We look for God, as look we should, 

But reckon not that God is Good; 

We search for Him on thrones above, 

Nor stop to know that God is Love; 

Upon some mystic power we call. 

Nor recognize that God is All! 

Could we but know before the prayer 
That, every time, the answer’s there. 

Could we but know who loudly speak. 

He’s nearer yet than hands or feet. 

That in the darkest, weakest hour 
The path is lit and veiled with power, 

We could not sigh and worry so 
Nor charge Him with neglect—ah, no! 

Oh, Path that leads along the steep. 
Vouchsafe our tired feet to keep 
Till we the way of Truth have found, 

And victory our search hath crowned; 

Till we can tread where once He trod 
And prove by life that Love is God; 

Till we have reached the sacred goal 
And found eternal place in Soul. 


( 47 ) 


MOTHER 

(I.) 

The sweetest word in earth or heaven, 

The name by God of heaven given, 

And all the tributes it can claim 
Collect themselves about her name! 

So trustful, patient, loving, kind, 

When sad we flee to her and find 
Our solace—a fond retreat, 

And there breathe thanks for Mother sweet. 


( 48 ) 


MOTHER 


(II.) 

Out of the bosom of star-decked sky, 

Out of the mist of,mountains high, 

Out of the arms of graceful trees, 

Gliding to earth on the gentle breeze, 

Was it thus you came? 

Down from the crest of flowered hills. 
Skipping the foam of flowing rills, 

Out of the wonderful song of bird, 

Out of the merriest laughter heard 
Did you come to me? 

Out of the beauty of every bloom, 

Out of the warmth of the sun at noon, 

Out of the lustre of jewels rare, 

Out of the sweetness of nectared air 
Came you unto me? 

Out of a pure and holy place, 

Sheltered by infinite love and grace, 

Land where the perfect, alone, have trod— 
Out of the throbs of the heart of God 
Straight to me you came! 


( 49 ) 


A LEGEND OF THE CHORUS 


The morn was in its infancy; 

The swaddling clothes of night 
Were laid aside in tenderness 
For gowns of hues more bright— 
Lavendar and blue and gray, 

Beautiful for dawn of day, 

Gowns of crimson, pink and gold 
Came, the morning to enfold, 

From the orient. 

The morn in grace and beauty grew, 

And ever as she smiled, 

Soft rays of sunlight sped away 
And sought the forest wild; 

Down amid the quiet green 
Danced each shining, yellow beam, 
Brightening every covert there, 

Warming all the night-chilled air 
Till the forest sang. 

A choir of myriad voices sweet, 

That made the forest ring, 

Arose to voice their ecstasy 
And glorious matins sing. 

Saw you e’er the break of morning— 

Day within the forest dawning? 

Heard that wondrous sylvan choir, 

Tuned to nature’s sweetest lyre. 

Trained by Joy to sing? 

It chanced that Pan, the famed musician, 
Rode that morning through the wood, 
And hearing there that choir angelic, 
Checked his steeds and mutely stood— 
Stood with speechless rapture filled, 

Long to listen thus he willed; 

Showers of music round him fell, 

Like the rains he loved so well— 

Floods of harmony! 


(SO) 


A LEGEND OF THE CHORUS 


It seemed as if the universe 

Had come its gladness to rehearse; 

At length his truant voice he found 
And bade his scribe record each sound: 
“Write”, said he, “each separate part, 
Then who reads may know the art; 
Know how simple tones but pure. 
Skilfully combined may lure, 

Lure the very souls of men 
To the heights they would attain; 

Lift the minds of those who plod, 

From their clay-paths up to God; 

Music such as this will teach 
How a soul may heaven reach, 

For ’tis heaven-born.” 

At once the scribe began to note 
The tones for quality, 

The heavy ones, the delicate, 

And place each where’t should be. 
Roaring winds the bass notes made. 
Treble parts a swift brook played, 
Murmuring contralto rich 
’Neath its waves that high would pitch, 
Dashing oft’ against a stone, 

Then in laughter’s lightest tone 
Sing a sweet soprano. 

And then there floated from afar 
Still sweeter tones that seemed 
To find their place within the song 
That heaven, itself, had dreamed. 

Along the lake where tall reeds grew, 
Flute-like sounds came stealing through, 
Threading all the song with sweetness, 
Lending to it rare completeness 
With their tenor score. 


( 51 ) 


A LEGEND OF THE CHORUS 


Within the scheme of music choral, 

First in forests heard, 

The sweetest strains, the richest measures 
Were assigned the gifted bird. 

Perched the dainty singers high, 

Rhythmic swaying toward the sky, 

Sang in thrilling lyric voice 
Strains full wondrous in their choice, 
Strains of obligato. 

The fragile leaves were all a-whisper, 
Softly moving everywhere, 

And softly buzzed each busy insect 
Circling through the air. 

Noiseless beasts with padded foot-steps 
Crept about in search of food, 

Active seemed each living creature, 

Yet a stillness filled the wood— 
Pianissimo. 

The distance held the lofty mountains 
Where deep chasms ran between, 

Walled with stone, but animated 
By a boisterous, dashing stream. 

Rushing down the chasmed way, 

Chased by winds that came to play. 

Wave and wind in force combined, 

Strong in volume thus entwined, 

Wrought a full crescendo. 


( 52 ) 


A LEGEND OF THE CHORUS 


How inadequate is language 
That would tell the means employed, 
Powers combined, to give expression 
When the day was over-joyed! 

Pan, the ancient god of music, 

Never had such music heard; 

Now each fibre of his being 
Was with tuneful rapture stirred. 
“Nay”, said he, “say not that music 
Found its source of life in me 
When ’tis borne on every zephyr, 

When ’tis heard in every tree. 

Every cloud that floats above us, 

Every breath that moves the seas 
Hath an element of music 
And with rhythm’s laws agrees. 

Winds that percolate the tree-tops. 
Waves that lash a stubborn shore, 

Birds that preen their plumage sun-ward 
Utter music’s sweetest lore. 

Life is but a vast production 
Written by the Master-hand, 

Tho unseen, the Author’s present 
And Director e'er doth stand. 

We may sing our song but poorly, 

But each line is written well, 

Every song in allegory 
Doth eternal truths foretell. 

Ah, some parts seem sad and minor, 
Others, measures rich and sweet, 

But ’tis God whose hand hath written, 
He hath made each song complete.” 


( 53 ) 


WINTER-ROSE 


Breathes there a man who half-way knows 
Thy perfect bliss, oh, winter-rose? 

I gaze into thy burning heart 
As gradually thy petals part— 

Tho thou wast lovely as a bud, 

There is no mortal power that could 
Describe thy beauty now! 

Thy wondrous fragrance silently 
Like love, unseen, envelops me; 

It matters not what snow-clad trail 
My thoughts traverse, they never fail 
To hasten back to seek thy shrine, 

So powerful a charm is thine, 

Deep-tinted winter-rose. 

What beauty dost thou lend my vase! 

I would that thus I filled my place; 

Tho plucked and exiled from thy home. 

No hint of sadness hast thou shown, 

But poised in radiant beauty there 
And shedding incense on the air, 

Thy off’ring mute is made. 

No questioning on future time. 

It seems a perfect faith is thine; 

No fear for change of place or scene 
But, fresh as morning’s earliest beam, 

It seems with joy to me thou’rt come, 

And by thy perfect life hast won 
My pledge to make mine so. 


( 54 ) 


UNKNOWN BUT LOVED 


Thou art not mine nor canst thou be, 

But I’ve the right to love thee 
As has yon’ glowing thing of gold 
The right to shine above thee. 

Thou dost not know nor wouldst thou care 
That I sit fondly dreaming 
Of clasping thee tight to my breast 
And sensing love’s deep meaning. 

Thou dost not share the sudden thrill 
I feel when thou art near me, 

My voice feeds not an hungry soul, 

But thine does when I hear thee. 


So, pratter on, wee lady, sweet, 
I’ve still the right to love thee 
As has yon’ glowing thing of gold 
The right to shine above thee. 


( 55 ) 


VIOLINISTE 


I never knew the breadth, the depth, 
The.boundless melody, 

The song, the speech of the violin 
Till she had taught them me! 

Her facile bow caressingly 
Awakes responsive strings, 

And suddenly I listen while 
Some dainty diva sings, 

Whose final ling’ring, liquid tones 
But scarce have died away 

When swells and flows rich harmony 
That makes my heart to stray 

To gorgeous scenes of opera grand, 
Where velvet voices blend; 

To zones where nature’s orchestra 
Accomp’niment would lend: 

The rush of rivers, whir of wings, 

The wailing of the wind, 

The swish of swaying tree-tops— 

True art such chords designed! 

A mystic, clinging charm is there 
That rests and yet inspires ; 

That satiates the longing deep, 

But kindles new desires! 

That fills the heart with rapture full. 
That clips its wings for flight 

And urges it from shadowed nooks 
To moving realms of light. 


And when she plays, those dreamy eyes 
With music’s passion light, 
Bespeaking what the stars must feel 
When they illume the night! 


( 56 ) 



FEBRUARY 


(Natal month of men illustrious.) 

How great thy gifts and wonderful! 

How rich the jewels all 
That, gleaming, from thy bounteous lap 
Upon earth’s palms did fall 1 
Outstretched and barren palms were they, 
That seemed so long to grope 
Along uncertain paths and dark, 

Whereon lay naught of hope. 

Thy gifts were men with courage, strength, 
With power and love endowed— 

That power and love that lifted men 
From trodden states to proud— 

With force and strength of character 
That evil could not stay; 

These were, indeed, as jewels rare 
Adorning earth’s dark day. 

Thou gavest these, and earth enriched 
A thousand times and more, 

Exalting life in estimate 
More vast than e’er before. 

And now a-down the countless years 
Rise songs to thee in praise; 

The world is glad when come again 
Thy fresh, snow-bordered days. 


( 57 ) 


THE POET’S TRAIL 

(After a visit to the home of Joaquin Miller) 

On the gentle slope of the wooded hill, 

Where the breath of the green blew strong, 

Where the silver eucalyptus peeled 
And the birds ran wild with song; 

Where the jeweled sun with its radiant glow, 

From the breast of the sea-blue sky 
Warmed the air and tinged each leaf and bud, 

Where the muses once passed by— 

I sat. 

While the fifty thousand tall trees waved— 

They were by the poet set, 

Better monuments than things of stone 
Oft’ employed “lest we forget”— 

While the frisky winds through the tree-tops pranced. 
While the chipmunk sought his food, 

While the lizard’s coat in the sunlight gleamed 
And the insects gnawed the wood, 

I thought: 

Of the fruitless ways mortals spend their days! 

Like the crops that are reaped and sown, 

In the spring they bloom, in the autumn fade, 

And depart scarce missed, unknown; 

All their days they spend in the quest of gain 
To supply their three-score years, 

But the man who lives like the ever-green 
To a higher law adheres. 

And thus, 

Craving simple life, but that realm of thought 
Where the silent stars hold sway, 

Far from modes and codes, from conventions, creeds. 
From the cold routine away. 

From the cloistered wall, lofty spire and dome 
To the wind-swept hills he came; 

Lo, a forest rose! greatest lyric song 
That could grace a poet’s name. 

( 58 ) 


THE HARVEST 


I heard your chirping, lonely bird, 

And sympathy within me stirred, 

A tear unbidden filled mine eye; 

Ah, little bird, you cannot cry! 

I know your little mate has flown, 
But love can never lose its own; 

Send out your love, you’ll find it true 
That love, by law, returns to you. 

I planted once a grain of corn, 

And soon a shapely stalk was born; 

I gathered many ears of gold. 

Ah, yes, I reaped an hundred fold. 

My prayer was sent across the sea, 
And life preserved came back to me. 
Send out your love; I hold it true 
That love, by law, must come to you. 


( 59 ) 



THANKS 


Thanks, God, 

That thou hast in all places been. 
Hast seen the strivings of all men 
And left them not alone, 

O, omnipresent God! 

Thanks, God, 

That thou hast known, and dost, 
The trials we have had and must 
Till victory be gained, 

O, thou, omniscient God! 

Thanks, God, 

That thou hast ever wrought and will 
When we can learn just to be still 
And know that thou art God! 

O, thou, Omnipotent! 


( 60 ) 


STREAMS 

Oh, skies and trees and flowing streams. 
How oft’ I come to you, 

Who speak in loftier speech to me 
Than man knows how to do! 

Yon’ silent stones, thick strewn and slick, 
O’er which I climbed, are friends 
That helped me to this lofty ledge 
Round which white water bends. 

Oh, waters deep and swift and free, 

That flow and sing the while, 
Surmounting moss-drifts, wood and stone, 
And losing not your smile, 

How like the flow of that great Tide, 
Descending from above. 

That sweeps life’s path from debris free 
While chanting: God is Love! 


( 61 ) 


BABY SYDNETTE 


Deep-set stars, your shining eyes, 

Your velvet cheeks, the crimson skies, 

A tender mouth with dainty lips 

From which the mother love’s draught sips; 

Silken hair with curls astray, 

Small, plump arms, so soft are they! 

Hands like petals from the rose. 

And such a darling little nose! 

Blossomed incense makes your breath, 
Dimples beam from right to left; 

Your chin was formed in love’s own mold; 

Such loveliness cannot be told— 

You’re just a little ball of love 
Sent to earth from God above; 

So innocent, so sweet, so dear, 

How glad we are to have you here! 


( 62 ) 


BOY 


Little fellow, you have come 
To share with us our quiet home. 
Quiet, did I thoughtless say ? 

Not since you have come our way! 
Bustle, hurry, chatter, noise! 

Was it ever thus with boys? 
Something new at every turn, 

Funny little things to learn! 

Filled with vigor, fun and joy, 

What a happy little boy! 

Surely, from your very birth 
You have bubbled o’er with mirth. 
Sleep, alone, can find you still— 

Ah, but no one else could fill 
So much space within our heart, 

You have claimed a monstrous part! 


( 63 ) 


TWILIGHT 


Stars of an opalescent blue. 

Rare as the rainbow is thy hue; 

Ye softly shine and radiate 
An aureole of light. 

Sand of the beach, clean salt-washed sand, 
Gleaming like diamonds ’long the strand, 
Blue stars, clean sand and darkened sea, 
Thy charms enrich the night. 

Hour of tranquility, sweet hour, 

Thou art a fragrant, pretty bower; 
Tendrils of thought around thee twine 
While in thy cove I rest. 

Quiet of night, in beauty wreathed, 

Thou art love’s benediction breathed; 
Dost waft my tired soul toward heaven 
Where man is ever blest. 


( 64 ) 


LADY SPRING 


Now what have you done to my heart, Miss Spring, 

That when you pass by it should wildly fling 

And straightway commence to rejoice and sing 
Peans of praises to you? 

How quick my response to your luring call! 

My work and engagements are cancelled—all; 

You bid, and with joy at your feet I fall 
Thrilled with the suitor’s delight. 

Strong and compelling, your call of the wild, 

I have obeyed as might any small child; 

Won was my heart just as soon as you smiled 
Down through the sunshine this morn. 

Charmingly trimmed are the gowns that you wear, 

Gorgeous, the garlands you bind in your hair, 

Yours is the voice of the bird-world in air 
Trilling again and again! 

Night comes in star-spangled robes of rich blue, 

Crowned in moon-radiance, singing of you; 

Softly I’ll dream that your love gentle, true, 

Finally answers my own. 

Oh, what a wonderful day we have spent! 

Boundless the plesaure to me you have lent; 

Could you but know what to me you have meant 
You would feel flattered, I know! 


' 65 ) 


FINIS 


No propaganda here is spread, 

No word to make one laugh is said, 

No thought that calls for tears when read 
By casual passers-by. 

When winds of winter fiercely blow, 

And embers on your hearth-stone glow, 

If some short hour you should bestow 
Upon the Lines Lyrique 

And find some scene that you admire, 
Some sentiment that doth inspire 
To thinking, aiming, living higher, 
Perhaps ’twas worth the while. 

Or if should terminate your quest 
In thoughts that bring you healing rest. 
That you can welcome to your breast, 
Pray, thou, all else forgive. 


( 66 ) 


ADDENDUM 


The borders of the closing night 
Are soft beneath my feet; 

The firmament in silence rolls 
The lofty morn to meet. 

The faithful little stars have paled, 

And soon must fall asleep; 

They take their rest when comes the sun 
His brilliant watch to keep. 

This little work essayed to shine 
While round it hovered night 

Of inexperience; but next 

Shall come the fruits of light. 

The borders of the closing night 
Are soft beneath our feet; 

The sun shall light the garden soon 
Where you and I shall meet. 


( 67 ) 













• » 






«• 





























































LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




0 015 937 239 P ^ 



yaffY +*r~s 


'v’y 


WILSON. 

PRINTING 

COMPANY 

vVjr 

( Jr 


M O NT GOME R Y 














































